Time Warp
by MonochromaticSongbird
Summary: There's more to Blaine Anderson than anybody knows, and Kurt is about to get dragged headlong into his world. A Doctor Who/Klaine story.
1. Blue

Kurt Hummel was on the edge.

It was three weeks until Regionals and despite the structured image The Warblers generally presented, their attitude towards pulling together a competent set list for the competition was dismally lacking. In fact their performance recently had been so disappointing that Kurt was left in a permanent state of confusion every time he left rehearsal.

Rather than practice involving their usual formation of blending voices in a six-part harmony and the tedious two-step-shuffle across the mock-stage set up in The Warblers rehearsal room, the two hour slot every evening was a harried mess of sheet music and voices clashing as the boys attempted to talk over one another.

Once Kurt even thought he saw David remove his tie without Wes frowning at him.

Blaine was still there of course; charming as usual, but ever since Kurt had thrown him from his room following their failed sex talk, he had remained irritatingly elusive. He would be there, spinning and sidestepping over the polished floor in his stupidly shiny shoes, buzzing with that enigmatic stage presence The Warblers so depended on, but as soon as the clock ticked past seven he was gone in a whirl of blue and red and a quick dazzling smile.

He was there at breakfast sometimes, and even occasionally at lunch but it seemed that the hour of sex-related mortification had well and truly freaked him out. He was still as polite and friendly as usual and had assured Kurt that no, he wasn't insulted. Yes _of course_ it was understandable that Kurt was uncomfortable with the situation, and _no, _he _certainly wasn't _suddenly put off their friendship. He was just really weighed down with work at the moment.

This coupled with the strange Warbler attitude recently had resulted in Kurt becoming almost unbearably high strung.

He was jumping at loud noises and sleeping badly and snapping at Mercedes so often during their bi-weekly Skype dates that she'd hung up on him last night, instructing him to call her back when he'd "Got his shit together, white-boy."

He was fine, _fine _he repeated to his teachers and his father and Blaine when he'd cared enough to ask two days ago. He just really wanted to win Regionals.

Or at least that was what he was trying to convince himself.

If he was honest he didn't know what was wrong. He was so tired during the day that he dozed off during Thursday afternoons Classic Literature lesson despite the fact that they were watching Romeo and Juliet and the Leonardo and Claire death scene was normally one that had him sobbing into his McQueen scarf, but when night fell and he was alone in the darkness of his dorm room he felt as though every cell in his body was buzzing with electricity.

For what though, he didn't know.

Even phone calls with Finn sent spikes of jealousy up his spine as he let slip about New Directions writing original songs regardless of the fact that Rachel had threatened him with dismemberment if he said anything.

Kurt doubted Finn knew what dismemberment meant anyway.

Finn rang off with a, "Gotta go bro, Quinn's here!" and hung up before Kurt could ask exactly why Finn had spent the entire call talking about Rachel's antics if he was supposedly back with Quinn, but dropped the phone onto his duvet with a sigh deciding he didn't really care anyway. New Directions relationship drama was just one thing he didn't miss.

He pressed his fingers to his temples as a headache throbbed behind his eyes. At this rate both stress and sleep deprivation were going to kill him.

* * *

><p>Saturday morning was a bright one, and Kurt watched the sun rise over the trees that surrounded Dalton as the steam from his coffee rose in spirals into the air.<p>

Pavarotti was chirping brightly along with the faint strains of piano melody issuing from the speakers next to his bed and his watch told him that it was just gone six. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should have taken up his Dad's suggestion to go home that weekend. Maybe he would be able to sleep better at home, in his usual bed with its goosefeather pillows and Egyptian Cotton sheets. Maybe Carole's cooking and Finn's laughter and a catch-up evening with the girls would put him in a better mind set to fall asleep.

Maybe.

But something in him had refused at his father's initial suggestion of driving back Friday evening. The excuse of The Warblers needing all the time they could to prepare for Regionals had worked like a charm but Kurt knew that wasn't honestly why he had declined the offer.

There was a heady atmosphere hanging over all of Dalton, but Kurt seemed to be the only one who felt it. The Warbler's had apparently gone mad with the stress of Regionals, and Blaine had been distantly vague as the weeks had passed and the whole time Kurt had a building sense of anticipation in his veins, like a child the night before Christmas. Like something big was about to happen, if only he knew what.

He laughed faintly at himself wondering if he was going slightly crazy, and stretched out to change the music. Maybe something more upbeat would rid him of the sleepy itch behind his eyes.

His finger brushed the surface of the Ipod and he jolted back at once. A bright spark of blue electricity had danced from the screen and onto his fingers, leaving a faint tingle in its wake. It was gone as quickly as it had come and Kurt shook his head once as he selected his favourite Lady Gaga playlist.

"Maybe I really am going mad."

* * *

><p>Blaine was in the library when Kurt finally tracked him down, intent on pinning down exactly what his problem was and hopefully putting a stop to the awkwardness and avoidance that had danced around them for the last fortnight.<p>

He even bought coffee. A peace offering, so to speak.

"Medium drip?"

He slid it across the table and Blaine looked up with a start. He looked as awful as Kurt felt, and he wondered again if he was the only one feeling the sleepless nights at the moment.

"You're a saint," he smiled faintly, closing his fingers around the cup like it was a lifeline.

They sat in silence for a moment, Kurt's heart hammering in his chest as he wondered exactly what to say. It had never been awkward between them before.

"Look Blaine, I don't really know what to…what is _that?"_ He cut himself short, pointing towards a metal shape attached to Blaine's right ear.

"It's a...um…a Bluetooth headset. Thing. My mother got it for me because, well, she wanted me to…to keepintouchmoreoften."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Really."

"Yes. She wanted me to be more accessible."

"Right. Even though we agreed that Bluetooth headsets manage to look simultaneously like cheap Men in Black rip-offs and ostentatiously pretentious?"

Blaine swallowed.

"Yes. She um…wanted to buy me a present. It was a surprise and I really had no say in the matter, I mean if she wants to buy me something especially if it's for her own peace of mind then I didn't really know –"

"Blaine, breathe," Kurt interjected, touching his fingers to the back of Blaine's hand before the boy could choke on his own words, "It really isn't a big deal. I was just teasing you."

"Oh."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"What's going on with you?" Kurt asked finally, the words little more than a broken whisper of all the questions he had been longing to ask for two long weeks.

Blaine didn't speak for a moment, and turned his hand so Kurt's fingers were intertwined with his. He ran his thumb across the back of his hand absentmindedly.

"I'm just–"

"Busy. Yeah. I know."

He made to pull his hand back, but Blaine caught his fingers and tugged them back, pulling Kurt closer to him over the table. His dark eyes were huge in his face, surrounded by deep purple shadows and Kurt had never seen him look so tired. So old.

"Kurt please. I'm sorry. I've just…there's been a lot of stuff that I…" He broke off.

"I just feel like I haven't seen my best friend for a long time."

The hint of a smile graced the corners of Blaine's mouth, "I know. I'll make it up to you I promise. As soon as we get Regionals out of the way then I'm all yours."

"Do The Warblers seem strange to you? The council, anyway?"

He hadn't meant to say it, but the thought of Regionals had sent all the curious wanderings of his mind straight to the forefront of his thoughts and out of his mouth.

Blaine frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well for one thing, David took his _tie off_ on Wednesday. Just took it off and flung it over the piano, and Wes didn't even _notice._ And the day before that Jeff was late, and when he finally got there he wasn't wearing his blazer and the council didn't say _anything._ It's like…I don't know, like they've forgotten who they are. They're just different and I honestly never thought I'd say this, I don't like the change."

Blaine nodded with a faint smile but his eyes were tight, "Maybe they're just stressed about Regionals."

Kurt nodded emphatically, "Yes! That's what I thought at first, but they're normally the semblance of order and discipline! It's like they're stressing so much over the _idea _of Regionals that they've forgotten it's in two weeks and we haven't even got an idea of what we're singing!"

Blaine stared at him for a moment, lips pursing thought.

"Maybe. I hadn't really noticed. Shall we say something on Monday?"

"I guess. I mean, we could try yeah. It couldn't hurt."

Blaine smiled again, and Kurt's heart leapt to his throat which was suddenly dry. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and tried to ignore Blaine's fingers still curled around his and just how beautiful he was when he smiled.

* * *

><p>Monday afternoon saw Kurt marching down the third floor corridor, attempting to send a legible text to Finn while keeping one hand on the strap of his bag to stop it bumping between bodies. He really didn't care who it hit, but this bag was Marc Jacobs and had cost him half his monthly allowance, he'd be damned if he was going to see it damaged at any point in the near future.<p>

His last period French class had run late and the professor had seen the need to keep Kurt back even longer to ask him about the possibility of tutoring some of the less competent students once a week. He would have said no, but the photograph of the Eiffel Tower on her desk had entranced him and here he was half an hour later, having missed the evening meal and running to Warbler practice because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut when it came to talking about France.

"Stupid France. Stupid Paris. Stupid Warblers," he muttered furiously, elbowing through the teeming bodies of blue blazers and wondering why the hell the halls were so busy this late in the afternoon. Shouldn't they all still be down in the canteen shovelling calories and cholesterol into their bodies at such a vile rate that it often made Kurt wonder why he was attracted to the male sex. Then his eyes would cross to Blaine in front of him, smiling and laughing and managing to make even the consumption of roast potatoes look sexy, and he would remember.

He stepped automatically out of line of a jostling group, laughing and joking in a way that reminded him so much of Finn and the New Directions boys that it made his heart hurt, and his back collided firmly with something hard and solid.

"Sorry!" He gasped out, turning so hard his neck clicked, wondering who he had stepped on and why they were behind him in the first place.

It wasn't a person.

A blue box was situated snugly in an alcove between a bust of Sir Dalton and a painting of the school itself, looking so out of place and yet blending in so perfectly it made his head spin.

He took a step backwards.

The box was as tall as the ceiling, and proclaiming the title "Police Box" in bright lights at the top, and blue. So, _so _blue.

Kurt blinked.

He took another step backwards.

He swallowed, lifting a shaking hand to cover his mouth.

His ears were filled with a buzzing sound, a silence so pressing it hurt, like the depths of the ocean were bearing down upon him.

He sank to his knees and the box simply looked back at him.

There had been countless boys milling this corridor only moment before, hundreds of them passing throughout the day and not one had noticed this. Kurt had walked this floor _himself _at least twice a day, nearly every day for nearly six months and he had never before –

He let out a shuddering breath.

The box was so silent and so still and yet he couldn't shake the feeling it gave him. Like there was something, _someone _watching him.

He pushed himself to his feet and stretched out a hand, taking tiny, slow steps towards the box as though it were a wild animal. His fingers brushed the cool metal of the handle.

Blue sparks again, like the ones in his bedroom and his arm jerked back as though burned.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Kurt jumped.

**Blaine Warbler:**

_Where are you? _

Kurt let out a harsh sound of aggravation and seizing his bag from the floor, set off at a run down the now deserted hall. As he turned the corner he spared a glance towards the box, still there, still silent and tall and blue. Just sitting.

As though it was waiting for something.

Kurt crashed through the door at breakneck speed, bangs falling into his eyes and blazer hanging off one shoulder.

Wes looked at him from his seat at the council table, his eyes narrowed.

"Warbler Kurt?"

"Yes…sir?" Kurt gasped for breath.

Jeff stifled a laugh from his seat by the window, but Wes didn't look amused.

"Is there any reason for you would like to give for your tardiness?"

"I…um…" Kurt began, but broke off. What would he say, _"Oh I'm sorry Warblers, I met a lovely blue box in the hall and spent an unnecessary ten minutes staring at it because I thought it was going to talk to me. Also you've all been acting like crazed automatons for the past fortnight, so obviously I presumed you wouldn't miss me."_

Yeah. Right. Okay.

"An acapella singing group is only as strong as its weakest link Warbler Kurt, remember that."

"I...I don't think that's the original saying," Kurt began, but Nick spoke over him.

"Wes, Kurt was kept behind after French. I can vouch for him, and I'm sure Madame will too, if you ask her."

Kurt nodded hard.

"Also, Kurt wasn't at dinner, I presume for the same reason," Blaine jumped in, throwing Kurt a wink, "I can only imagine that his French teacher had something important to discuss with him. Kurt?"

"Oh yes. Very important. Exceedingly important. So important that I –"

"Okay Kurt that will do. Just try and be on time tomorrow, okay? Take a seat," Wes gestured with his gavel, and shuffled some pages on the desk.

Kurt huffed out a breath and dropped onto the sofa beside Blaine, who grinned at him.

"Well it seems the council is all back to normal," he turned and whispered into Kurt's ear, his breath ghosting along his collar, "I guess you had nothing to worry about."

"Just my luck they return to normal just in time to berate me the one day I'm late."

Blaine laughed, still encroaching Kurt's personal space but he couldn't bring himself to mind, not when he could smell the faint tinge of coffee and aftershave that emanated from his skin.

"Oh I don't think The Warblers were ever normal, Kurt."

* * *

><p>Regionals were fast approaching now, and ever since The Warblers had returned to their normal selves they had been working everybody extra hard.<p>

Practices were filling every possible free time slot on Kurt's timetable, every mealtime was filled with embarrassingly loud, synchronised voice exercises in between bites of food, and almost every lesson was dedicated to a surprise performance to entertain the masses.

Kurt wondered if there really was any ruling at this school, or if it had been created as some sort of twisted, Lord of the Flies inspired experiment. Did the teachers even do _anything _that wasn't shaking their heads and laughing at The Warblers antics, or worse, encouraging them?

Apparently not.

Through the rushed conversations he'd managed with both Finn and Mercedes, New Directions were as stressed as he was. Apparently writing songs was harder than it had seemed originally, they'd grudgingly revealed, but then Rachel would snatch the phone from their hands and inform him that while she appreciated both his talent and the fact that he was quasi-related to a fraction of their group, he was still technically the enemy. And also, her songs were perfect thank you very much, they were just unacknowledged.

Meanwhile Kurt's nights were just as sleepless, his restless dreams now filled with images of blue boxes and static electricity.

The box had disappeared from the third floor corridor, he'd checked and while his rational mind was telling him it was all a dream, and that he really needed to get some sleep soon before he starting hearing animals talk, the scrape of blue paint on the side of his leather bag told another story.

Of course it could have come from anywhere, but he'd never seen a shade of blue quite like that before.

* * *

><p>"Alright everyone! Warblers!" Wes called from the front of the bus, seeming lost without his gavel to quieten the room and Kurt almost sympathised with him.<p>

David stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle that seemed to rattle through all the boys skulls simultaneously. He grinned, and slapped Wes on the back as the rest of The Warblers cradled their heads.

"Yeah, we can't sing if we're deafened Wesley!" Blaine called from his seat next to Kurt, to mutters of agreement from the rest.

Wes rolled his eyes, "You'll be fine. You just need to turn up and look pretty Blaine, and we'll win no problem."

"At least he's confident," Kurt mumbled, pressing his head against the cool of the window and yawning.

"Still not sleeping?" Blaine asked, his voice hushed as Wes instructed the group. Kurt shook his head, his eyes still closed as the bus started with a jolt and a hiss.

"No. And when I do I have really strange dreams."

"What sort of strange?"

"Like…haunting almost. There's this…this is going to sound really stupid, but this shade of blue. I can't get it out of my head."

"Too many Warbler blazers," Blaine said, leaning his head back, "Go on. Try and sleep, I'll wake you when we get there. We need our countertenor looking perfect."

"I don't even have a solo Blaine."

"Even so. Try and get some sleep so you don't pass out on stage, okay?"

Kurt tried to mumble his consent, but his thoughts were already drifting away from him and it came out a sleepy moan. Blaine's chuckle was the last thing he heard.

* * *

><p>Kurt wished he could see The Warblers perform sometimes. He knew what they must look like, and how they sounded and he'd of course seen Teenage Dream, a memory that was branded into his brain no matter how much time passed.<p>

But he wished he knew what it looked like from the outside, to see the teeming swell of blue bodies turn and shift and sing as one; to see the group of boys each working as separate parts to a whole, led by a figure whose stage presence was big enough to draw attention away from his unfortunate stature.

Kurt enjoyed performing with The Warblers, he truly did as they harmonised their way through "Thanks For The Memories" before shifting into "Perfect".

It was enjoyable. It was comfortable.

But he missed the passion he felt with New Directions. He missed the spark, the rush of performing a song you believe in. A song that speaks to you.

He felt like Ariel, and wondered what The Warblers would do if he broke into an impromptu rendition of "Part of your World". The image of Wes' head exploding was enough to keep a smile on Kurt's face as they bowed to the screaming crowd.

He vaguely registered that most of them were on their feet, and wondered if The Warblers really were that good.

They bowed as one, before breaking formation and clapping each other on the backs as the curtain fell in front of them, and Kurt caught a glimpse of a dark haired figure running off stage. He frowned.

"Blaine?" He called, but the boy didn't turn and without a moment's hesitation Kurt ran after him.

It didn't take long to locate him amidst the backstage paraphernalia, and when he did Kurt fell back into the shadows, watching.

Blaine was pacing, running an agitated hand through his hair, the other tugging at the knot of his tie. Kurt had never seen him look so dishevelled. He was talking in rushed, broken sentences and after a moments confusion Kurt realised he was only hearing half a conversation, remembering the Bluetooth headset.

"No…_No._ Seriously…Look I don't know what you're expecting me to say!" Blaine laughed faintly, exasperated, "I know. I just…Mickey shut up for a minute! I can't take much more of this, it's killing me. Do you know how mundane school life is? Well _of course_you dropped out."

Kurt frowned, leaning forwards slightly, craning his head as Blaine stopped in the shadow of a curtain. He had a glaring feeling that he was listening to something very private.

"I mean sure, maybe the velocity is right and you were probably right to call me, but honestly. I'm _dying _here. At this rate I'm just going to give up and Dalton be damned, it can be sucked into the Vortex for all I care. No you're right, I don't mean that."

"I'm going mad. I'm going mad. I'm going mad," Kurt mumbled, massaging his temples with shaking fingers. Everything Blaine was saying was jumbling around his brain and it seemed that his lack of sleep had finally caught up with him.

"Kurt?"

His head jerked up. Blaine was standing in front of him, a curious smile on his face, his hair looking deliciously ruffled as it stood up in every direction.

"What are you doing?"

Kurt let out a nervous laugh, and his pulse thudded in his ears. His voice came out an octave higher as he spoke.

"I was looking for you actually. And I have a headache."

Blaine raised an eyebrow, and extended a hand to help Kurt over a box of lighting equipment.

"Okay. Well I'm here."

"Who's Mickey?"

Blaine stopped short.

"What?"

"Oh nothing. I just heard you on the phone. Before I found you. I mean, that's how I found you. I heard you and, well. I just wondered. You've never mentioned him."

"He's just…He's an old friend…of a friend. He needed a favour with something, and I thought I could maybe help."

"Oh."

A silence fell over the pair as they stared at each other, squinting through the darkness and Kurt became dimly aware that Blaine was still holding his hand.

"I…um."

His throat was dry.

"We should go. They'll be announcing the winners soon."

"Yeah."

But neither of them made any move to leave.

"Kurt I need to tell you something. Something really, really big. But I don't know if I can. I –"

"Guys come on!"

Nick and Jeff ran past, thumping Blaine's shoulder as they did so. Kurt turned his head slightly and saw all The Warblers pressing towards the edges of the curtains.

Wes turned and beckoned them, as they filed out onto the stage. Kurt made to follow them with a sigh, but Blaine tugged him back.

"Kurt, please. I really need to say this."

"Blaine, we need to go. We'll talk afterwards, okay?"

He pulled Blaine's wrist, dragging them into the bright spotlights of the stage and releasing his arm to wave at Rachel and Mercedes. Their hands were linked tightly as they waved and smiled brightly back.

His heart was still beating double time.

The politician's wife was talking and stumbling, and Kurt's hands were wringing together. He could feel Blaine standing behind him, heat radiating through the back of his blazer.

"And the winner is…"

He heard Blaine take a deep breath behind him.

"The New Directions!"

And then all hell broke loose.

If Kurt's life had been building up to a moment, this was it. If the past few weeks had been an ascending journey then this right here was when he stepped over the precipice.

A mechanical scream, like wrenching metal, was echoing its way around the hall, bouncing into every corner and making it almost impossible to see the immediate source.

Impossible, if the source wasn't standing right next to you.

Kurt's eyes were fixed upon the three members of the council, their heads thrown back and their mouths open as the sound of creaking and crashing machinery. The sound grew louder and louder, and their eyes had darkened to a pitch black.

Kurt's head was pounding. People were rushing in every direction, feet pounding on the hardwood floor and the screaming was drilling a hole through his skull. He couldn't breathe, his body wouldn't move. He was fixed to the floor and the three Warblers turned towards him with their jaws stretched to gaping depths, the grinding, screeching sound still pouring from their throats.

A warm hand closed around his, grounding him.

Kurt spun, his eyes meeting Blaine's. They were brighter than he'd ever seen them, alight with excitement and wonder. He smiled.

"Run" he said.


	2. Run!

**A/N: Hi! So I was a dick and deleted the authors note from chapter one. So here's an extra-long one…**

**I keep seeing Klaine/DW manips everywhere and was desperate for a crossover to happen. So I just decided to write it myself. I have parts of the story planned out, a few things that will definitely happen but I have no idea how long it will be. If anyone has any idea for anything they want to happen, feel free to drop me a comment saying so!**

**There's a bunch of questions about the regeneration, and where this is in DW canon, but never fear. Blaine will explain all eventually!**

**This starts somewhere between Sexy and Original Songs. And it all goes batshit out of canon from then on.**

**Oh & it's an M rating so some swearing, some violence, maybe eventually some gore, and possibly maybe one day some smut if I can bring myself to write it…**

**And I don't own Glee or DW. If I did my life would be very different.**

* * *

><p>Blaine was pacing again. Incessantly.<p>

"I don't care Mickey! How many times…no…no…SHUT UP! Honestly, do you ever listen to me? I told you no, now I'm telling you yes. Things change. And no, I don't need your help. No…STOP TOUCHING THAT! Look I've got to…Just stay where you are. And don't touch anything that looks –"

Blaine stopped short, blinking at the wall opposite him in amazement.

"He hung up on me. That moron actually hung up on me. I…I –"

He seemed to be at a loss for words, and turned to Kurt with a questioning look on his face.

Kurt didn't see it however. He was situated on the floor, squashed gracefully between a bucket and a shelf groaning with cleaning products, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, rocking backwards and forwards ever so slightly.

Blaine dropped to his knees before him, gingerly reaching his hands out to brush Kurt's wrists. He jerked back, looking at Blaine as though he'd only just realised he was there.

"Kurt," Blaine said softly, "Kurt it's okay. You're okay."

Kurt looked up at him with disdain.

"Seriously Blaine. In case you hadn't noticed, not only did we _lose_ a singing competition that I've been building up for all year, I was chased off the stage by three boys I thought were my friends who were making completely unnecessary amounts of inhuman noise – honestly, with voices that sing as well as they do, I don't know _how_ they managed to sound just that _awful_ – and then Wes's head went and blew up! In front of me!"

Blaine winced slightly, "Yeah…yeah that was a bit…"

"Blaine, I don't think you're quite understanding me here. HIS! HEAD! BLEW! UP! And apparently it turns out he wasn't even human, because that definitely wasn't what I got showered with after his head _blew up._ I got showered with metal. And fire. And plastic."

"I know, Kurt. I know."

"So no Blaine. You're wrong. Everything is not okay; Wes is a robot. The Warblers are maniacs. And _you, _I don't even know. You're being all mysterious and weird. And sure in another situation I would play it off as part of your sexy, elusive charm, but right now I'm confused and pissed off."

Blaine quirked an eyebrow, "Sexy? Really?"

Kurt frowned, "That's what you chose to hear, out of _everything_ I just said? Can you please just focus!"

"Sorry! But…sexy?"

"Blaine!"

"Right. Focus. Sorry."

"Blaine, what are we going to do? You tell me to run and we get chased by head Warblers into a cleaning cupboard. It's painfully small in here by the way, and dirty. I've been trying not to mention it, but next time can't you barricade us somewhere a little…more tasteful?"

"Right. Of course, well I'll keep that in mind the next time we're being chased by murderous and vengeful robots who look good in blazers and can make up six-part harmonies to Fall Out Boy."

"Woah, hold up a minute there Buster. Murderous. Murderous and vengeful?"

Blaine looked at him exasperated, "Well they weren't exactly screaming and chasing us because they wanted to make friends, were they? Maybe I should unlock the door and invite them all to tea next time!"

"Blaine my family are out there! My friends! Out there with murderous robots running around, and we're sitting here, locked in a cupboard!"

He waved his hand, "Relax, they'll be fine. I set the doors to automatically dead-lock shut after fifteen minutes. And I surrounded the stage with magnetic clamps that are strong enough to repel a body made of metal. _And _I set off the fire alarm as we ran. Hopefully that have stopped them getting off the stage, and everyone in the audience would have got out okay. In case you didn't notice the three robots were only chasing _us. _We probably drew their attention for long enough that everyone managed to get out."

"Okay I think I understood about half of what you just said."

He smiled, "Everyone got out but we're locked in the building with three rampaging robot boys in blazers."

"Oh. Is that good or bad?"

"You decide."

"How do you know they're locked in the building too?"

"Because they won't have left without finding what they're looking for."

"And what's that?"

"Us. Well," Blaine grinned, and an insatiably smug look crossed his face, "Me."

"Right," Kurt rolled his eyes, "Brilliant. Look Blaine, who _are _you?"

The smile left his face, and Blaine leant forwards until there was less than a foot between them. His eyes were bright and deep and imploring as they bore into Kurt's face.

"Kurt. There isn't time to tell you now, but I promise I will. If you _ever_ trusted me before now, _please_ just stick with me on this one."

He stood in one smooth motion, and held one hand down to Kurt.

"Do you trust me?"

Kurt bit his lip.

"Yes," he said, and took Blaine's hand.

* * *

><p>Kurt's head was hurting. He couldn't tell if his thoughts were so crowded and so messy that they had scrambled up any opportunity for legitimate judgements on the situation, or if the last half an hour had wiped his brain of all feelings and emotion and left him full of cotton wool and the white noise between radio stations.<p>

Normally an ideal daydream to get Kurt through a particularly boring two hours Ancient History would be Blaine grabbing him by the hand and dragging him into a cupboard so small that if they stood face to face their noses were almost touching.

Normally in his mind the cupboard didn't smell like bleach and rubber, however.

But now, _this_.

Blaine. His best friend Blaine.

Gorgeous Blaine. Funny Blaine. Charming Blaine.

Blaine who was oh so addicted to coffee, who always wore odd socks because he forgot to pair them up and who always cried at the end of The Sound of Music.

_That_ Blaine had been violently replaced. This new model was rambling and elusive and patronising and Kurt kind of wanted to kiss him and then punch him; he didn't care what order.

They were running again and Kurt wondered why Blaine always felt the need to hold his hand and run with him. Their feet were pounding heavily along the otherwise silent and deserted corridor, each slap of leather on the floor echoing in the empty space around them.

"Shouldn't we take our shoes off?" Kurt whispered harshly.

Blaine stopped short. Turned and face him, looking incredulous.

"Why on earth would we take our shoes off?"

Kurt blushed, feeling foolish. He probably hadn't meant to say that aloud, but it seemed that every moment longer he was with Blaine it was getting harder and harder to keep things inside.

"Well we're making an awful lot of noise. And I don't know whether the plan is to hide from the robots or whatever, but we probably don't want to draw to much attention to ourselves, right?"

Blaine let out a breathy laugh, "You know Kurt Hummel, I don't know how I ever managed without you. Come on then, shoes off and vámonos!" He threw one shoe over his shoulder with a flourish and a grin.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's Spanish. For 'Let's Go'. Shoes?"

"Right. Yeah," Kurt considered his shoes for a moment, chewing his lips. "Are we just going to leave them here? I'll have you know that my shoes are –"

"Don't tell me. Designer?"

"Well they weren't _cheap_ Blaine!"

"Kurt we are on the run from murderous robots that _aren't even_ robots. If anything they're multi-dimensional interspecies Chromo-forms with a bizarre penchant for singing acapella and wearing smart blazers and…No, you know what, we'll just keep calling them robots. But right now they are not very happy. I would go so far as to say they are exceedingly pissed off…for reasons I may or may not have had a hand in, but regardless. There are bigger things at stake here than your shoes."

Kurt put his hands on his hips and fixed Blaine with one of the harshest glares he could muster.

"Blaine Anderson. For the past thirty minutes I have given you the benefit of the doubt and refrained from punching you and I have _one hell_ of a right hook, you can ask Finn for reference. So if I say that I don't want to leave a pair to three hundred dollar shoes behind, regardless of whose chasing me, I don't plan on doing it. Okay?"

Blaine considered him for a long moment before he stepped forwards and cupped Kurt's jaw in both his hands.

"Kurt Hummel. I can tell already that you are going to become the biggest handful I have ever had to deal with, and that's saying something."

He turned away, scooping up both pairs of shoes in one motion and moving to place them against the wall, "I promise you, we will come back for the shoes later, Kurt. Okay?"

Kurt took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "The things I do for you, Blaine Anderson."

When he opened them Blaine was grinning that goofy grin, his eyes lit up and bright with excitement like a child at Christmas.

"Ready to run again?"

"What is it with you and running, we're not even running from anything!"

A clatter sounded at the end of the room, and Kurt spun around to see three stiff bodies in navy suits turning to face them, which Kurt found slightly disconcerting as one of them seemed to be lacking a head. He turned back to Blaine who, if it was possible, was grinning even wider.

"You were saying?"

* * *

><p>Maybe Kurt had really, finally cracked. It was becoming a more and more viable explanation as the minutes ticked by.<p>

Maybe he was still sleeping on the bus before Regionals, his head on Blaine's shoulder. Maybe he had passed out at the shock of losing and Blaine had carried him back to his dorm room and tucked him into bed. Maybe he was still in Literature class.

Because there was no way his brain was accepting the fact that he was running full pelt down the hallway of a deserted building, with the automated clanking of three robots with two heads between them following at a distance that was too close for comfort.

"There!" Blaine said suddenly, throwing his arm forward to point at the wall ahead of them, towards two huge cupboards, a blank wall and…OH! A fire escape! Were they just planning to vacate the building, leaving the robots to rampage? Had the entire half an hour been a complete waste of time?

"Maybe we should have rethought the socks," Kurt whispered as Blaine's futile attempts to stop running left him skidding along the smooth floor to crash into the door. Kurt of course managed to come to a stop while maintaining his dignity and Blaine threw him a glare.

"Shut it, you. Now if I can just…" Blaine was fumbling in his Dalton blazer before pulling something out with a triumphant cry.

"What the _hell _is that?"

Blaine considered the object in his hand for a moment, holding it up with a shrug. It was the size of a large pen. A very large pen with buttons and a bright light at the end, like a child's toy or something questionable one would find in an antique shop.

"It's a um…sonic screwdriver. It's a screwdriver that's…sonic and stuff. Look Kurt, just hang on for a minute, okay? Don't move…I'm just gonna do…a thing."

Kurt huffed and fell against the wall, folding his arms. The sound of mechanical feet marching was echoing ever closer with each second and Blaine seemed to have lost the minuscule sense of urgency he had. He was now talking to the door. Or the glowing pen, Kurt wasn't sure.

"No, NO! Please…come on!" His hands collided hard with the door in a desperate slap, before his forehead thudded down to hit the glass.

"Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid_–"

"Blaine? Blaine what–"

"Oh nothing. Except everything. Except not really but most of it yeah," Blaine raked a hand through his hair, "You know I told you my great big awesome plan about getting everybody out and it was all safe and dandy? Well turns out that locking everybody out effectively…well…locks us…in."

He looked at Kurt sheepishly, his hand still in his hair.

Kurt couldn't speak for a moment. He wondered if it was possible for his brain to short-circuit and shut down completely.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you right, I thought you just said that we were _locked inside. _Do you ever think anything through! Or do you just make it up as you go along like a bumbling idiot!_"_

Blaine groaned, "I totally had a plan! It was a perfectly fool proof plan as well! Everyone would get out, no one would die, I would save the day and then skip off into the sunset! I just forgot to…fine tune some of the um…details."

"I'm going to fine tune your _head_ in a minute if you don't shut up!" Kurt seized Blaine by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him so close their noses were almost touching, "Look Blaine I trust you and all, but if you don't get us out of here _right now_ , God help me I will burn your cardigan collection and make you watch!"

Blaine swallowed and Kurt eyes definitely did not focus on the bob of his Adam's apple as he did so.

"Look, Kurt I –_shit__!_"

His arms were around Kurt's waist, spinning them both into the gap between a cupboard and the wall and if Kurt had thought they were close before, it was nothing compared to now. Every inch of his body from his ankles to his shoulder was pressed against Blaine's.

"What the –"

And then Blaine's hand was over his mouth, pressing against his lips as his dark eyes begged Kurt not to make a sound.

Over the sounds of their mingled breathing and his hammering heart, Kurt could hear three sets of stoic footsteps slowing to a march. Mumbled conversation with words too quiet to hear and Kurt was blaming his pounding heart and breathlessness on the gratuitous amounts of running he had been forced to do, rather than his teasingly close proximity to Blaine.

His hand was still against his mouth, but Blaine had closed his eyes, his teeth worrying his bottom lip and he looked like he was praying.

A bright beam of red light fanned across the end of the hall, leaving trickles of static in its wake and passing within inches of where their toes were forced together.

The hand on Kurt's waist tightened, thumb pressing into the skin above his hipbone hard enough to bruise. He cursed his teenage hormones to the depths of hell for feeling the need to make themselves apparent while he was running and hiding for his life, accompanied by an unrequited crush who seemed to have been on the receiving end of an entire personality transplant. Maybe the universe really did hate him.

"Area clear," a David's voice said, "He must have gone another way."

Minutes ticked on and finally, finally the sounds of three feet marching away reached Kurt's ears. Blaine let out a deep sigh of relief that tickled the hair at Kurt's temples.

"Sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand from Kurt's mouth at last, "I just..."

He pulled them from the alcove.

"Okay, so I wasn't entirely honest with you. There is a way we can get out, it was just one I'd hoped to avoid."

"Is it…dangerous?" Kurt offered.

"No…not so much. I was just trying to gage how much madness I can show you before you slap me in the face and run away screaming. This…isn't going to be for the fainthearted."

"Blaine I think if I was going to do that, I would have already. It's been high on my list of priorities sure, but right now I just want to get out of here. I think my quota for madness is pretty much indefinite by now."

"Okay. Good. Well. Come on then…I guess. It's time you met a friend of mine."

"I thought you said everyone got out?"

"Well when I say…friend."

* * *

><p>"No. Fucking. Way."<p>

Kurt had backed up until his back collided with the cellar door. His hand was scrambling at where he knew the handle was even though he knew it was locked because Blaine had pointed that glowing pen at it and mentioned the finer points of being locked in somewhere. And Kurt knew he probably wouldn't be able to leave anyway. His legs wouldn't hold him.

It was the box again, just as smug and silent and _blue _as before.

God that blue. Kurt couldn't handle it.

Except now it was in the cellar of an auditorium two hours away from Dalton and how the hell had Blaine managed to get that here on the bus without The Warblers noticing.

"Kurt, breathe."

"But it was in _Dalton._ On the third floor, next to my French classroom! It was there and then it was gone and I thought I'd…_how can it be here_?"

"Oh, so you've met already?"

Kurt let out a choking scoff that sounded like a sob.

"Yeah. We've…_met._ Blaine it's a box."

"Yes it's a box. It's a wonderful box. Don't insult the box."

"I just…Blaine I thought you said you had some other way of getting out of here. Now In case you hadn't noticed we are locked underground. The robot boys _will _find us eventually."

Blaine was smiling and looking as smug as his box as he leant against the door_._

"Blaine. Who _are_ you?"

Blue eyes met brown and they held each other there for a long time.

"I'm the same person I was Kurt. I _am. _I'm just…a little bit _more. _Kurt, do you trust me?_"_

Kurt nodded in spite of himself.

"Just take a look. Come on, it's okay."

Kurt took a step and another step forwards until he was in front of the door, one hand braced on the metal handle. Blaine's hand was warm and comforting between his shoulder blades. He took a breath and pushed.

* * *

><p>"Holy fucking shit."<p>

"I know."

"The interior shade of coral really clashes with the outside shade of blue."

"I kno– Kurt _what?_ That's what you're focusing on?"

"I'm just saying."

Kurt moved forwards, the floor warm under his toes.

The room must have been twice the size of the Hummel/Hudson household, stretching to glorifying heights like Dalton's entrance hall. The walls seemed to glow with their own ethereal light, each one brighter than the next.

The whole place was buzzing with activity and electricity despite being deserted and still and Kurt felt the memory of a tingle under his skin. The energy of the place was soaring through his veins. He felt as though he could fly.

Blaine was ahead of him, walking backwards up a set of glass stairs, his arms spread wide as though to encompass the whole place. He was smiling bigger and brighter than Kurt had ever seen before.

"This is The TARDIS."

Kurt laughed. He couldn't help himself.

"It's…"

"Don't tell me, insane? Amazing? Bigger on the inside?"

"I was going to say beautiful. But yes, yes, _yes_ to all those things."

Blaine's smile was so huge and so bright he could have given a supernova a run for its money. He turned away from Kurt, flinging his blazer off and over a railing. His tie was gone, his sleeves pushed up and his hair sticking up in every which way and he spun around a centre consol. He was laughing like a child, giddier than Kurt had ever seen him.

Kurt followed him up the steps, leaning against the rail to watch as h flicked switches and pulled a lever or two, ringing a bell with a flourish and running a loving hand over a plain centre panel.

And then he stopped all at once, his back to Kurt, his hands gripping the edge of the consol.

"I'm not human Kurt."

Kurt's heart seemed to have grown larger and larger, until it was filling him up from his throat to his feet. The burning itch that precedes tears was permeating behind his eyes.

He turned, and he looked scared. So, so scared.

"What are you?"

His voice was a choked whisper.

"I'm a Time Lord. I…this is my…my time machine. But she's also kind of a space ship, which is cool. I'm from a planet…called Gallifrey… and I…"

He seemed to run out of steam, his words trailing off as he looked at Kurt beseechingly.

"Please say something."

Kurt's throat was too dry for words but he tried because Blaine looked like he was about to cry and Kurt didn't think he could take it as he realised what Blaine was afraid of.

He was scared Kurt would reject him.

"What…um. What are you…doing here? At Dalton, I mean?"

Blaine's hands were in his hair again, a seemingly stress-related habit Kurt decided as he watched him tug at the roots. The remnants of gel left the hair in spikey clumps pointing in every direction.

Kurt reached forwards, tugging Blaine's wrist down.

"Hey. Stop that. You'll go prematurely bald."

Blaine smiled.

"I got a call from an old, old friend. Mickey. He lives in England but for some reason has recently been putting a lot of time and effort into researching acapella singing groups. Apparently there was something suspicious about the top groups of the top American schools. Something happened in England when a load of them went to tour last year, and it was all hushed up the government. Anyway he gave me a call and asked if I wanted to check it out. I mean I wasn't doing anything else and when you wake up one morning with the face of an American teenager there's not you can do without looking suspicious – and I tend to look suspicious most of the time anyway. So fitting into private school was really no problem."

He was off on a tangent now, arms waving and pacing around and around the circular platform.

"But I…well I got sucked in I guess. I got entranced by the Dalton way of life, and who can blame me really. It was nice to have a break for a while and sing some songs. Not much singing goes on in the TARDIS, it's hard to harmonise on your own and I'd forgotten how much I loved singing. And then I was gonna give it up, I really was but…then you came along."

He stopped again, eyes fixed on Kurt.

"You don't meet a human like you every day, Kurt Hummel. And I liked you. I wanted a friend and you were so funny and charming and I was addicted to your company.

"And then there were coffee dates and French classes and singing practice and scheduled meal times. And you and I would watch musicals and Disney films and sing duets and I just…I didn't know what to do.

"I was so close you know. So close to giving up Dalton before you came along. Time is so boring when it goes in the right order but something about you made me feel like I was flying again.

"I think the TARDIS felt a bit neglected, but Kurt you have to believe me. I have never felt about a human the way I feel about you.

"And then Mickey was all back on my case and nagging and I really want to know why he's obsessed with bringing down singing groups. And sure The Warblers are a little uptight and a little old-fashioned but I just thought it was part of their _thing. _And then…well. You were there on the stage. Apparently they are multi-dimensional interspecies Chromo-forms, just like Mickey suspected. Which means I'm never gonna hear the end of his gloating, but it _also _means that they are insanely pissed off right now. And they know I'm here, which is a very bad thing."

Kurt couldn't help himself any more. He threw himself forward, looping his arms around Blaine's neck and hugging him as tightly as he could muster.

Blaine laughed deep and low into his ear.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry I talk too much, I should learn to shut up sometimes."

Kurt pulled back, rubbing the back of his wrist over his eyes and nose. He laughed faintly.

"So you're an alien time traveller whose been masquerading as a schoolboy in order to plan a mutiny on one of the highest ranking acapella singing groups in America, but on the way you became my best friend and right now there are very angry robots after your blood because they think it's your fault they lost the singing competition. Did I miss anything?"

"No…no that seems about right. Oh, and also my real name isn't Blaine Anderson. I kind of stole his identity and left him with no memory in a flat in England with a large sum of money left to him by some wealthy relatives he's never heard of. I'm sure he's doing just fine."

"Oh."

"I'm The Doctor."

"The Doctor? Just…The Doctor?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"No. I just don't really… Can I just keep calling you Blaine?"

"I'd really prefer it if you–"

"I'm calling you Blaine, Blaine. Try and stop me."

"I said you would be a handful."

Kurt smiled.

"So now what do we do?"

Blaine grinned at him, his eyes sparking with delight, "Now we fight some robots!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So The Warblers are robots, Blaine's the Doctor and Kurt is overrun by so many hormones he can't think straight. It's going to be fun from here on out.**

**Thoughts/messages/ideas? Don't hesitate to suggest!**


	3. Saviour

**Disclaimer: Don't own them. I wish I did.**

**So my Doctor!Blaine is a little bit of a bastardised version of Matt Smith + Darren Criss, just because I think their personalities would blend into an awesome mixture.**

**Also I totally agree that a full on relationship between the two of them would be a little bit weird. Or a lot. **

**But that doesn't seem to effect actual DW canon as Amy's 21 and Rose was only 19, but who knows. Klaine is my absolute endgame but I might just keep them as best friends. Bear in mind that Kurt was already totally in love before Blaine decided to go and become a Time Lord on him!**

**I LOVE HOW MANY OF YOU HAVE STUCK THIS SILLY STORY ON ALERT AND FAVOURITES ALREADY! It makes me insanely happy.**

**Also I'm English, so if that shows through then I'm really sorry. I'm not really down with Americanisations, but I'll try my best!**

* * *

><p>Kurt was sitting on the smooth glass floor, legs crossed and arms folded, watching Blaine spin like a madman in front of him.<p>

It wasn't every day that your best friend-slash-object of your one-sided affections revealed to you that no, they weren't in fact human and rather yes they were a time travelling alien. Kurt thought he was holding up rather well considering the day he was having.

His head was still overrun with questions though, and he was wondering why he hadn't freaked out yet.

Maybe it was because Blaine looked so damn beautiful as he twisted his way around the glow of the orange room that no matter what he told him, Kurt knew that he would follow this boy anywhere.

Even if he did have a strange affinity for stroking parts of the machine and talking to inanimate objects.

Even now, he seemed to have forgotten that Kurt was there, caught up in his own ramblings as he threw things and hit buttons and talked and talked and talked. Like he'd forgotten about the morning they'd had and the very real threat of a handful of ruthless robots.

"Blaine?"

"Yes! Right so, robots! They're not in control of themselves you know and a machine is only as clever as whoever is controlling it. So right now we need to find the source of their power, maybe reason with it I don't know, I'll do a lot of talking and usually that seems to work. Easy enough, no?"

"No."

"No?" Blaine froze. He wouldn't meet Kurt's eyes and turned immediately back to the console, moving to the opposite side so Kurt couldn't even see him anymore.

"Well that's fine. I mean I shouldn't have just assumed that you wanted to come I mean…sure. You don't have to…you can….I can just take you home now. If you want. You can go home and see your family and you know…I'll be fine without you."

His voice was quiet and he sounded so forlorn that Kurt wanted to bundle him up and never let go.

"Blaine?"

"I mean sure you've had a weird day I understand that. But you hugged me and I thought we were cool and I just thought you would want to…come with me. At least…help me finish this I'm not saying you have to stay forever although that would be really really nice if you…you know. Wanted to do that."

"Blaine!"

"It's just that I've been alone for a long time now and I've been stuck in the same place too long and I really just wanted to fly again. With you. If you wanted to come. Which you totally don't have to because –"

"Doctor!"

Blaine stopped. He whirled around to where Kurt was standing behind him, hands on hips and a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

"You called me Doctor."

"You wouldn't shut up!"

"I was just –"

"Blaine, I'm not making a lifelong commitment here. Right now those robot things have kinda pissed me off, and I sort of just want to…well destroy them. As weird as that will be when they've been my friends for the past six months I think I can look past that if they actually try to kill us. The _no _was to your bumbling idiot's excuse for a plan, and also to the notion of me hunting down any form of evil robot creator without shoes on."

Blaine blinked and cast a glance down at their still woefully shoeless feet.

"Okay. Although I was sort of enjoying the barefoot look, but we can find some shoes somewhere I'm sure."

He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and plucked at his collar.

"I kind of wane get out of this uniform as well. Too much polyester really starts to play havoc on my sense after a while."

"Hold up, I thought you _loved _your Dalton uniform?"

"I loved it _because _it was a uniform! It was so much fun having to wear it at first, it was like a real proper thing, that real people did and I've _never _had the chance to wear a uniform before! But then the novelty kind of wore off and then I was just wearing cheap navy polyester with red piping and a tie that _never_ stayed the right length."

"So what do you normally wear?"

"I haven't really had a chance to try out the wardrobe recently. I'm not even sure where it is at this precise moment."

"You…you have a wardrobe? A wardrobe that _moves?"_

"Not so much moves as…moved. Once or twice but I've been all caught up in Warbler shenanigans and navy blazers for six months. I haven't had time to explore for a while…and ever since my…"

He gestured to his face and shrugged.

"Well. I've been busy. And…hang on a minute."

Blaine fixed Kurt with a steely gaze, before marching towards him with such purpose that Kurt backed away, stumbling into the railing.

"You were showered with bits of Wes' head when it blew off weren't you. So that means…"

His hands were all over Kurt; patting his pockets and his shirt, fingers sweeping inside his collar. Tickling and fluttering like moths at such a rate that it was slightly irritating. Not to mention that he was doing that thing where he disrespected personal boundaries and stepped well into Kurt's breathing space.

"Blaine, what? Stop it! That's so _annoying_!"

"Aha!"

Held triumphantly between his index finger and thumb was what looked like a computer chip. Or what had once been a computer chip because to Kurt right now it just looked like a half melted piece of plastic dotted with flecks of metal.

He was grinning.

"Result!"

"Blaine, what is that and _why_ is it so awesome?"

He twirled back to face the console, dropping the metal-plastic blob into a test tube set into the panel. It gave a hiss and a faint glow, and a noise like a computer starting up emitted from the centre. Blaine let out a laugh of achievement.

"Yes! Perfect!"

"What is it?"

"That, my dear, was a sample of the robot's head once known as Wesley. Now Chromo-forms are made of very specific materials – they need to be able to adapt and change in ways that mimic the human body perfectly, SO that of course means that they have to come from a very specific place. One place to be exact. And in order to keep the calibration right, logic says that whoever is controlling them _has_ to be in the same place they're being made. So if the TARDIS can trace the source of the plastic and lock on to its origins, then BAM! We've found ourselves some evil robot leaders! How's that for a plan then, Little Mr…Plan-Lover!"

He was giddy with excitement and bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands clasped together.

"Wow, Blaine. You've really outdone yourself there. Just one thing; what happens when we get to the evil hive of robot monsters?"

He waved that off with a flick of his wrist, "Whatever. That part comes later. Right now is success! Oh and a little warning, you might want to find something to hang on to."

Kurt frowned but closed his hands around the rail behind him and a moment later was immensely thankful that he'd chosen to listen as the entire room jolted, throwing him forwards and jarring his shoulders as his hands kept him locked onto the barrier.

The TARDIS was flung into oblivion, the entire place shaking like it was caught at sea, and they tumbled and turned with Kurt gasping for breath and Blaine laughing like a maniac.

"Blaine! What the –"

Kurt managed to shout over the screeching echo that filled the air around them, like the entire bodywork was screaming and sighing all at once.

"The TARDIS is flying. Not me, and she tends to…like it rough!"

Blaine had one foot on the console, one hand grasping a metal handle that swung from the ceiling and his other pounding a button repeatedly with a hammer.

"BEHAVE!" He shouted, flinging the hammer over his shoulder and narrowly missing Kurt's head, but he didn't have a spare thought to care.

And then it stopped and Kurt was flat on his back on the glass floor, watching the domed ceiling spin above him although he supposed that his vision was spinning rather than the room and wondered if this was what being drunk was like.

Blaine's face appeared above him smiling.

"Oh come on. It's not that bad!"

He pulled Kurt to his feet and squeezed his shoulders as he steered him towards the door.

"Blaine it was about as pleasant and painless as a Brazilian Wax. And no, you can't ask me how I know for comparison."

"Well you can't just throw a sentence like that around and not expect a little curiosity!" He winked and Kurt's stomach rolled over but this time it was pleasant. He searched desperately for a change of subject.

"Shoes, Blaine?"

"Ah, yes. Um…here!"

He sprang over the stair rail and began digging deep in a box tucked into an alcove.

"I know there in here somewhere….yes! Here we go."

He turned back holding a pair of filthy and battered white Converse. Kurt wrinkle his nose slightly.

"With…this outfit Blaine? _Really?"_

"Kurt normally I would gladly appease you diva-ish ways but right now it's Converse or socks because the TARDIS isn't exactly the quietest on arrival and we are actually attempting a sneak attack on these people. So put the shoes on and we'll go see if we can still retain the element of surprise, okay?"

Kurt huffed and muttered and opened his mouth to let out a biting remark, but then Blaine was smiling at him and his arm was around his shoulders guiding him towards the door so Kurt stopped and put the shoes on because really, Converse weren't actually all that bad if it meant Blaine would keep looking at him like that.

"Oh the bright side, they're easier to run in than socks."

"There's going to be more running!" Kurt said, dropping to a whisper as they left the TARDIS.

"Kurt, with me there's always going to be running."

* * *

><p>It was shockingly easy to find their way through what appeared to be an underground internetwork of tunnels. Blaine whipped out his glowing pen thing <em>– screwdriver Kurt, it's a screwdriver!<em> – pressed some buttons and they were good to go.

Apparently it was helping and Blaine was whispering words of encouragement to the contraption, most of which just left Kurt raising his eyebrows and sighing as he trailed along behind. The pen let out an ominous beep, and Blaine threw out his arm which of course Kurt walked straight into.

Blaine gestured with his head to a door on their left, and pressed the handle down while signalling to Kurt to stay silent.

Kurt held his breath as Blaine stuck his head around the door. The smile was gone from his face now, just a curt nod and his fingers around Kurt's wrist as he pulled them both into the room. Keeping Kurt behind him, their hands still joined and the other holding the pen ahead of him, lighting up the gloomy corridor he strode towards a bright doorway at the end.

A shadowing staircase was thrown into sharp relief as they passed and Kurt saw three familiar figures huddled underneath it.

"David? Thad? _Wes?"_

"Blaine! Kurt! Oh thank god!"

Blaine pushed Kurt towards them.

"Kurt get them out of here. Take them back down where we came and up the exit steps we passed. Then stay up there. All of you. Don't come back for me."

"But, Blaine –"

"Kurt this could get really dangerous," Blaine had stepped forwards, clasping both Kurt's hands in his, "I know normally that doesn't bother me, and it won't this time either. Just as long as you're not with me. I can't walk headlong into danger with you at my side."

His eyes were so dark. So hard and relentless, yet so gentle. And so, _so_ old.

"Blaine, please!"

"Kurt I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

He was so close their noses were touching, and Kurt lowered his head so they were pressed forehead to forehead.

"Just get yourself and those three out. Keep yourself safe and maybe, one day, we'll see each other again."

His lips were warm and soft and slightly damp on Kurt's forehead and they lingered just too long to remain in the friend-zone but Kurt didn't feel like overanalysing for once. He leaned into Blaine's warmth for a second and then he was gone. Down the corridor until his silhouette was tiny against the bright light from the room.

Then he vanished.

Kurt brushed tears from his cheeks. He hadn't realised they were falling.

Then he turned to the three boys under the stairs and tried to push Blaine from his mind.

"Kurt! What the hell is going on? Why are you and Blaine here? Did those robot things get you too?"

"No, Wes. They didn't. How long have you guys been here?"

"Weeks and weeks. Just after you transferred to Dalton, we were out one day - just practicing our vocal exercises in the ice cream parlour,"

"Of course," Kurt murmured, his fingers scrabbling at the tightly knotted ropes that bound the three boys.

"And then bang! We were whacked over the head, in broad daylight! In the middle of Ohio! We woke up here and ever since it's like they've been keeping us half sedated, half…I don't know. It's like we could still see and hear everything that was going on at Dalton, but we knew we were here."

"Why aren't the other's talking, Wes?"

Thad and David were wearing matching glazed looks, eyes unfocused and glassy they rolled and stared at the ceiling and the floor and everywhere except Kurt's face. They didn't acknowledge him as he pulled the biting cord free from their wrists.

"We haven't been able to talk since we got here. It's just like our throats wouldn't work until bang! Today. Mine was back. No explanation, I could just talk again and I was suddenly focused and awake."

"Of course," Kurt breathed, his mind racing. Fragments of conversation, moments of Blaine's ramblings were piecing together in his mind and he undid the last knots on Wes's wrist.

_They're not in control of themselves you know._

_Something happened in England when a load of them went to tour last year, and it was all hushed up the government._

_They need to be able to adapt and change in ways that mimic the human body perfectly._

"They needed a psychic link with you! That's why they kept you alive! They sounded like you perfectly, and you got your voice back this morning when your head blew up!"

"I…I'm sorry?"

Kurt waved him away, standing up to pace.

"The Chromo-forms duplicate the top leaders of acapella groups, steal their voice and then whip the rest of the group into shape to win the competition. They kept you three here to maintain the link between the _real _you and the doppelganger! And of course this morning, when we lost, Robot!Wes's head blew up and you got your thoughts and voice back! He's still running around out there, but he's only a robot now."

He turned to face the three boys, feeling immensely pleased that he'd worked it all out. Two stared at the ceiling and one stared back at him with a look of woe on his face.

"We lost Regionals?" Wes asked in a small voice.

Kurt resisted the urge to strangle him. After all, the boy had been through a lot. He'd been knocked out and held hostage for a painful amount of time and Kurt couldn't even begin to imagine how much he was missing his gavel right now.

He crouched down in front of the boys, and rested a comforting hand on Wes's shoulder.

"Yes Wes. We lost. It was devastating and I rest the blame entirely on the fact that we didn't have your guidance. The Warblers were positively falling apart without you!"

"Really?" He looked up eagerly, "They were really, really bad?"

"Dreadful," Kurt nodded, pulling him to his feet and gesturing for help with the other two, "Dismal, even. I can't even begin to imagine the state they're in at the moment without their leaders."

"Well I suppose," Wes began, attempting to straighten his stained collar as they began to haul the two semi-conscious boys between them, "David, Thad and I are an _exemplar _council members."

"Definitely," Kurt said.

"And we really do know how to pull the team together. The robots can steal our voice as much as they want, but they'll never quite get that…family feel that we three bring to the role. I think we do an_ excellent_ job of really building upon those…personal relationships of our members. Don't you agree, Warbler Kurt?"

"Oh, entirely. Yes. Unfailingly so."

They reached the ladder with the bright "Exit" sign, and Kurt climbed it first, pushing the manhole to one side and sticking his head out the top.

"We're in the city centre," he called down to Wes, "About twenty minutes from Dalton."

With a certain amount of difficulty they juggled Thad and David up the ladder and out into the open. Kurt laid the boys on the sidewalk with a sigh as Wes settled next to him.

"I suppose we'd better see about getting them back. Do you reckon they'll wake up soon?"

"Wes I have to go back for Blaine."

Kurt picked at the laces of the shoes, not daring to look Wes in the eye.

"Kurt you can't. He knows what he's doing I'm sure! I mean I think he's a total lunatic and I can't think of any good reason why he would stay down there, but you know Blaine. He never rushes into anything without a plan first."

Kurt snorted.

"Really?"

* * *

><p>It was maybe not one of his cleverest ideas, but Kurt knew he would never forgive himself if he let Blaine die down here. He just hoped that he wasn't already too late.<p>

Blood was rushing in his ears as he followed the wet path back down the way he'd already walked twice this afternoon.

He ran his fingers along the damp wall as he walked, trying to remember without the light of Blaine's pen just how far along the door was.

Something wet dripped into his hair and ran down the back of his neck, and he shivered and shuddered and tried not to imagine what it was. There were thick pipes running along the ceiling that seemed to connect to drains and gutters in the road and he wondered if these tunnels were part of the drainage system. Or worse the _sewage._

No, it was best to just not think about it.

His fingers brushed the metal of a door handle, and without a second thought he flung it open and was running. He tried not to think about how Blaine was right; Converse were easier to run in.

He could hear noise and movement from the light-filled doorway and ran faster and faster towards it, flinging himself around the frame.

He was on what felt to be the metal structure of a fire escape-esque set of metals stairs that ran from where he was at the top, feet away from the grimy ceiling, to six flights down. He could see what looked like a huge metal chair in the centre of the floor and hear a voice so rough and mechanical that it made his own vocal chords twinge in sympathetic agony.

"…And so you thought you could just come sauntering on in here and ask us politely to leave? My God Time Lord! Your new regeneration has really done a number on your common sense hasn't it? What is this look, fifteen years old? Did your memories of scheming and the destruction of so many races leave, along with your old face?"

Kurt dropped to his knees, craning his neck as far as he could, pressing his face to the metal bars while attempting to keep himself hidden in the dark of the dimly lit room.

He could see the top of Blaine's head where he was forced into a kneeling position, the three Dalton-clad figures – one still lacking a head – pressing his shoulder down, holding him there.

He looked so willing to accept his own execution that it hurt Kurt's heart.

The voice laughed and it bounced off the walls, sending chills straight through his body.

"You're _feeble_ Time Lord. You'd think we'd never met before! What's this? A far cry from the Oncoming Storm you used to be. I remember when entire _universes_ would turn and run at the mere _mention_ of your name, and here you are! Waltzing in like a child playing dress up, asking for alliances and a peaceful truce between us!"

Blaine's voice broke through, quiet and desperate.

"It's just singing! It's just acapella!"

The voice scoffed.

"There is nothing _'just' _about showchoir, Time Lord. You would do well to remember that. Enough! I'm bored of all this chatter. Just…get rid of him."

Kurt stuffed his fist into his mouth, trying to muffle the sob that threatened to escape his throat. _He had to do something, he had to do something, he had to do __**something.**_

Before they had gone on stage at Regionals, Burt Hummel had caught Kurt's arm and pulled him to the side.

"Dad! I thought you weren't coming!"

He smiled gruffly, clapping his son's shoulder, "Wouldn't miss it kid. I arranged some guys to switch shifts with me at the shop and well, Carole wanted to see Finn anyway. So we all drove up together."

"It means a lot to me Dad."

"Look kid, I know I don't get this whole singing thing. But good luck up there. I know this means a lot to you, and I wanted to give you something."

In his father's hand was a battered and scuffed silver Zippo lighter. The word Hummel was engraved into the side. Kurt frowned.

"Dad, what –"

"It was my Grandfathers. And he gave it to my Dad. And here I am giving it to you. I know you'll probably never have a chance to use it. You're not gonna be smoking cigars and camping like the old Hummel men and I considered giving it to Finn. But you're my son Kurt, and it would mean a lot to me if you kept it."

Kurt's hand closed around the heavy metal.

"Thank you Dad."

"Good luck out there kiddo. We're rooting for you."

Kurt had dropped the lighter into the depths of his Dalton slacks and promptly forgotten about it, as Blaine ushered him backstage.

Until now.

His fingers brushed against the weight, still pressed against the outside of his leg and he swallowed.

Fire. Okay. He had fire, well that was at least a start. Why on earth didn't he ever carry anything more _useful_ in his pockets, he chided himself patting them down.

There was a comb he knew in the inseam of his blazer, but what good would that do him now? His iphone was there, but who on earth would he call?

He had shoelaces and a striped tie and a set of headphones, but when laid out in a row next to each other along the floor these items were feeble and mocking him in their uselessness.

He took a step backward from his pitying pile of belongings, seriously considering the benefits of carrying a survival guide around with him, when he stumbled over something on the floor.

Blaine's glowing pen thing, except it wasn't glowing right now and he could hear Blaine's voice telling him it was _a screwdriver. A sonic screwdriver._

It had bleeped and lit up and…opened things. Blaine had pointed it at doors and cupboards and knots and each thing had opened freely.

Kurt snatched it up, weighing it in his hands. It was heavier than it looked.

He looked around, desperately.

The pipes were running along the ceiling, feet from him. If he stretched he could place his hands on the dark, dirty surface and feel the rushing of water inside the metal.

This was not the time for _maybes_ and _what ifs_. He was a Hummel and right now he had a best friend to save, and he would be damned if he didn't at least try.

Kurt raised the hand holding the screwdriver, and with a wish and a prayer he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the button.

And was promptly hit in the face with a jet of water.

Shaking his wet bangs from his eyes and trying not to wonder if it was dirty or clean, he ran two steps to the next pipe and did the same thing. And again. And again until every pipe running the width of the ceiling buckled and groaned and spilled its water free. It streamed and shot down the walls and into the air, rushing towards the ground so hard that Kurt flattened himself against the wall to avoid the flow.

He heard shouts from below as the waves of water continued to rush, but didn't want to stick around to see how long they would last. If he didn't act, and the water cut out now then him and Blaine were definitely dead.

But if…

He ran to his things on the floor, and deftly knotted the shoelaces and tie together, praying the knots his father taught him when he was six years old would hold.

The pipes were creaking and moaning under the speed and flood of water pressing through them, and even the ones Kurt hadn't touched were beginning to crumble.

He just needed one…

He grinned. Maybe things would be okay after all.

One thin pipe, which stretched across the entire length of the room had cracked at the opposite end. Crashing down the wall it came to rest in the brickwork a few feet from the ground. Metres from where Blaine was pressed against the wall, still pinned back by the arm of one headless Wesley, his hair plastered to his face.

Kurt needed to act now.

He swept back his bangs and stuck the screwdriver in his top pocket. Looping the tie-lace rope around one wrist, he scrambled to stand on the slippery railing, throwing the makeshift rope over the pipe.

The lighter was clutched in one hand, the top flicked open.

Now Kurt didn't know a lot about Chemistry, but he knew enough to assume that water, plus massive amounts of electricity and combined with vast heat was probably a bad mix.

The pipe screeched above him, and he swallowed. It was now or never.

"What? Who is that?"

Amidst the cacophony of noise, the rushing of the water and the clanking of metal, the spiting fire of sparks from the robots and the chair and the metal figure with the awful voice, Kurt could just make out her words.

He grinned.

"I'm Kurt Hummel. And I'm here for my best friend."

And he jumped.

One arm screamed as he flung his entire weight off the railing and down the pipe, which buckled and bounced as he slid down it. The other hand flicked the lighter and hurled, and he prayed and prayed that it didn't go out before it hit its target.

The resounding crash, the shower of sparks and the gut-wrenching scream told him that this was nothing to worry about.

His body crashed hard into the metal form of headless Wesley, who stumbled and fell in a shower of springs and sparks, to smash into a thousand pieces on the wet floor.

He landed, albeit less gracefully than he would have hoped but no one said anything about dismounting a broken water pipe to be an easy task, and when Blaine was looking at him in such wonder and amazement it didn't really matter that he fell to his hands and knees on the dirty floor.

"Run, run, run, run, run, run," he chanted, scrambling up and clutching at the collar of Blaine's shirt, dragging him along the wall, as far away from the screaming mess behind him as they could get and somewhat weighted down by Blaine's insistence on turning and staring with wonder at the raucous Kurt had caused.

There was a door and Kurt flung himself at it. It didn't budge.

"Shit. _Shit!"_

"Kurt! Calm! Did you find my screwdriver?"

"Oh I just saved your life, but no thank yous or anything! No 'I was wrong Kurt' no 'I'm sorry Kurt'. Nothing. Nada."

"Kurt! Did. You. Find. My. Screwdriver?"

"Yes!"

And then they were through the door and Blaine was spending an awful lot of time checking to see if it was locked behind them, like it mattered, before Kurt could grab his sleeve and pull him down in what was hopefully the direction they'd parked the TARDIS, and it was a lot harder than it looked without laces in his shoes.

"TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS," Blaine was muttering, and somewhere along the way their hands had intertwined.

She was there.

And they were in, and Kurt slumped to the floor, leaning against the inside of the door as Blaine ran to the console, slammed some levers down and sent them hurtling away from the burning tunnels.

And then Blaine collapsed next to him and the floor and room was jolting and spinning but they were fine and they were alive.

Their eyes met and they laughed and laughed until they couldn't breathe.

* * *

><p>"Shit man. I still can't believe you blew them all up."<p>

"I can't believe you honestly tried to send me away. They were going to _kill _you Blaine, and you seriously thought I was going to walk away and let that happen?"

He groaned faintly, and let his head fall onto Kurt's shoulder.

"I know Kurt. I'm sorry. I have this impossible moral compass that makes it absolutely integral that I put everyone else's lives before mine. Stupid, I know."

Kurt smiled. He stared down at his legs stretched out in front of him. His shoes with the missing laces and the dirt and water.

"Blaine…I heard what she was saying to you."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't really understand it. What did she mean by the…something about a _regeneration_? The face of a fifteen year old?"

Blaine's fingers were twining around each other, building towers and ladders and lacing together as he spoke.

"When…when Time Lords die, or get killed. Their body has this way of…changing itself. Like the entire DNA rewrites and he becomes a new man. A new man with a new face and a new body, but the same mind. I'm the same each time. But somehow I'm different."

"So how old are you really? If you're not actually seventeen?"

He winced slightly.

"I was wondering when we would get to that."

"Well?" Kurt pressed.

"This is my twelfth regeneration. Which makes me…914. Give or take."

Kurt froze.

"You're actually _nine hundred_. Oh God this situation just became _way_ to Twilight-esque for my liking."

Blaine chuckled, "Yeah. Yeah I get that a lot."

They fell silent for a moment. Kurt wondered if his head was ever going to start rejecting some of the things he had learnt today.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah, Kurt?"

"Would you take me home?"

"Sure."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So this was fun to write.**

**Thoughts?**

**And no this isn't the end. Far from it, trust me!**

**I've got a bunch of ideas about stuff they can get up to, but if anyone wants to drop me an adventure they want to see, or a Glee/DW prompt they have then feel free! I always love the ideas!**


	4. Anywhere

**This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to end it on a nice stopping point **

**I really really don't own Kurt or Blaine (although Chris & Darren are in the UK right now. I might choose to not let them leave…)**

* * *

><p>Kurt stood on his front step and looked up into the sky. It was imploringly dark and the light pollution clouded over the stars and even the moon was barely visible over Lima that night.<p>

It was raining.

Although drizzling would be a more appropriate word, as Kurt could hardly picture himself watching this pour through his windows while he listened to Sarah McLachlan and had a _moment_. No, this was just wet and sticking his eyelashes together in clumps and pressing his bangs into his forehead.

He wondered if the wetness on his face was really just rain as his hand clenched the spare key he'd retrieved from under the mat.

He didn't want to go inside. Not yet.

Maybe this was what it felt like to go into shock, he thought as his heart pounded and his skin felt too warm to be plausible in the chilly and damp March air.

Maybe this, when the adrenaline wears away and the high has faded, this is what you're left with.

The trip to his house had been dismally short and it seemed that only moments passed between Blaine twisting a lever and the nauseating jerk of vertigo that struck as the TARDIS took off, and the crashing touchdown in the middle of the road outside Kurt's house.

He'd stepped through the door and stared at his house, before turning awkwardly back to Blaine who was rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

"I guess I'll…I'll see you soon, Kurt."

And he was gone and the TARDIS faded into the night until all that was left was a bright star, too soon covered by the clouds.

And then it had started to rain, and Kurt knew now that he was crying.

"Culture shock," Blaine would chuckle and squeeze his shoulders, propelling him somewhere; down a corridor, into a classroom, past a group of murderous robots from space. And Kurt didn't mind, it didn't matter where Blaine was taking him when he spoke like that and guided Kurt with such painful familiarity that Kurt knew he would follow this boy anywhere.

No matter who or what he was.

But Blaine wasn't at his shoulder or by his side. Blaine had vanished with an infuriatingly ambiguous smile and a whir of timeless engines and Kurt didn't know if he was ever going to see him again.

He hadn't missed the slight downturn of Blaine's lips when he'd said he'd wanted to go home, the faint darkness that fell upon his brown eyes as he'd nodded and turned towards the controls.

But Kurt only wanted to see his father and Carole and even Finn, had only wanted to sooth that ache in his chest that seemed to have settled there and was it really only that morning that his father had been clasping his shoulders and wishing him luck?

He was shivering.

Kurt took a deep breath, although what good would it do him, and turned the key.

The warmth of the house enclosed around him like a cocoon and he could smell Carole's cooking and hear Finn's music and the strains and cheers of a Buckeyes game on the television.

Kurt dripped on the carpet and inhaled deeply through his nose.

"Kurt?" Carole peeped out of the kitchen with a smile, wiping her hands on her apron, "Did you say you were coming home tonight?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he breathed and she smiled, hooked her head back into the kitchen, beckoning him after her.

"Come and taste this soup then, will you? I used your recipe but it's not quite the same as yours."

He followed her, kicking off his shoes as he went. The Converse mocked him from their position on the floor.

Carole held a spoon up to his lips to taste and the liquid burnt a trail of fire down his throat to his stomach.

"It's lovely Carole, really."

"Not as good as your recipe though."

He smiled.

"It was my mother's recipe actually. And I think you make it perfectly."

* * *

><p>Finn lumbered in a while later as Kurt was stirring his finger idly in a glass of ice water and watching the rain trickle in rivulets down the window.<p>

His mind was blank yet teaming with words and questions and emotions and he knew that one wrong word would snap him. But right now he didn't know if he would laugh or shout or cry.

"Dude! We won man! Did you see Rachel's face, I thought she was gonna kiss me! Sorry we didn't find you, that fire alarm really shook everybody up and then Mr Shue took us all to Breadstix which is kinda weird, but it was nice and all and –"

"Finn!" Carole reprimanded, "The soup's nearly done!"

He looked up guiltily from the fridge, swallowing a mouthful of cold pizza and dropping the rest back onto the plate.

"Sorry Mom. But Kurt…Kurt?"

"Hmm?" Kurt's head jerked up. He'd phased out Finn's seemingly inconsequential chatter in favour of staring out of the window again.

"Are you okay? I mean I'm sorry you guys lost and all and we did all look for you afterwards, but The Garblers –"

"Warblers."

" – had all vanished and then I was kinda busy. What happened to you?"

"I…um. Blaine and I…we…"

Finn stuck his hands over his ears, "La la la la! I don't wanna hear it!"

"Finn!"

"Because of the _brother _thing, not the_ gay_ thing Mom. _God._"

Carole swatted him with a spatula anyway.

"What's this I hear about a gay thing?"

Kurt turned and before he realised he was moving he had launched himself into his father's arms, breathing in the familiar scent of oil and smoke and grease and he felt tears burn in the behind his eyes.

"Woah kid," Burt wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"Are you alright? I rang you after the competition you know. We weren't sure…"

Kurt pulled back, swallowing the lump in his throat and rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah the um…some of The Warblers didn't take losing to well. So we all went back to Dalton. And then Blaine…dropped me off here. I just wanted to come home. I guess I just…missed you."

"You saw us this morning kid. Not that I'm complaining, you know I love it when you come home."

"Yeah."

And that was it, and they sat around the table and Carole served the soup while Finn regaled them with a rambunctious retelling of New Direction's antics at Breadstix.

Apparently there had been an incident involving Santana, Artie and two hundred stale breadsticks but Kurt stopped listening.

He just watched them.

He watched Carole roll her eyes and his Dad chuckle into his soup, sneaking in salt when he thought Kurt wasn't watching. He watched Finn wave his arms around and chew with his mouth open.

This was his life.

Kurt had never been one for the small-town life and he'd known since he was six that he wanted something so much bigger for himself.

He wanted out of the house, out of the state and into somewhere bright and beautiful and accepting. He wanted to live and laugh and make a name for himself in fashion or music or Broadway – it didn't matter.

But he'd always known that.

And he'd lived the quite life in Ohio with his father and their patchwork family in a sense of burdening anticipation, ticking off the days and the months on a yearly planner, counting down to that moment, that day he knew was coming.

He hadn't expected it to be today.

Because an ache had settled in his heart like a distant longing.

He thought that he'd just wanted to come home, to see his dad and to remember what it was like to have a normal day where you're not running for your life.

He thought he'd finally broken through the overload of ridiculousness that had been piled onto him in the space of six hours. That he'd wanted to run back to his old life and his family with their Friday night meals and home comforts.

But now that he was here…

Because now he _knew. _

Kurt had always known there was more to life than Lima, Ohio. He'd never really pondered the size and state of the universe and everyone who knew him was aware of his religious beliefs.

But the awareness that there was something bigger and better out there had always been settled comfortably in the back of his mind, like an idea he could draw out and remember whenever his life seemed to suck. Just in_ his_ mind, "something bigger and better" had translated to _Broadway__, _or _Runway Collections_.

And now Kurt had caught a glimpse of something bigger and better than he could ever have even hoped for and that fragile idea of there being more to life had suddenly become a painfully tangible concept.

He'd seen ravenous robots impersonate people he was friends with; seen them survive without heads; seen and travelled in a blue box that was _bigger on the inside._

He'd saved his best friend's life.

He knew there was more, now.

He knew, and he wanted and yearned and longed for it.

He wanted to see it all; everything there was to see and hear and experience. He wanted to run with Blaine and laugh and sing and cry and risk his life a million times over for the sake of an adrenaline rush.

He wanted to _fly._

* * *

><p>His phone buzzed as Kurt lay on his bed in the dark a few hours later, decidedly not trying to fall asleep as he knew he wouldn't manage it.<p>

**Blaine Warbler:**

_Go outside_

Kurt's heart jolted slightly.

He scrambled from his bed, wriggling into his skinny jeans and black sweater as fast as was humanly possible, grabbing a jacket as he sped down the hall on tiptoes.

He could hear Carole and Burt murmuring quietly as he passed their closed door and could see the light of Finn's video games flickering under the door as he crept down the stairs.

He jumped the creaky bottom step and stuffed his feet into his black boots.

His heart hammered as he pressed down the door handle, stepping out into the darkness and the rain. The sky was still starless.

The box was still blue, even in the pitch black of the road.

Blaine was leaning against the closed door, his hands in his pockets. He'd changed out of his Dalton uniform into a pitch dark suit and his hair was curly.

"You're gonna get wet."

Kurt's voice was faint, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Well. I had some shoes to return."

He was holding up Kurt's black Dalton shoes, the ones he'd had to pull three extra shifts of the garage to afford, the ones he'd taken off to be able to run away from robots quieter, backstage after they'd lost Regionals.

He felt like crying again.

Kurt moved forwards a few more steps, holding out his hand to take the shoes but Blaine didn't move, didn't make any motion to hand them over.

"Was that it?"

Blaine looked at him. His eyes were dark and bottomless.

"I thought that maybe, as well…"

"Yes?"

"You could…well you could maybe…"

"_Yes?"_Kurt urged, stepping forward again and again until they were only a foot apart.

"You could come…with me?"

"Where?" He was breathless.

"Everywhere. Anywhere. Any time, any place. Anywhere that has or hasn't, or once or one day existed or will exist. Anything there is to see and hear and feel, Kurt."

He stepped forwards.

"You could see it all, the stars and the moons and the suns and every inch of the universe and _more. _God Kurt, haven't you ever wanted to just…_fly?__"_

He took a sudden step back, a hand jumping to rub at his hair.

"That is of course, if you…you know. Wanted to."

Kurt's brain was screaming and he resisted the urge to jump up and down and clap his hands together, because a question had sprung to the tip of his tongue.

"Blaine, why me?"

Blaine cocked his head slightly to the side, considering.

"Kurt. Ever since I met you, from the first _moment_ in fact, it's like you were looking for something. You were stuck and alone and lost in a world you hated, and I don't know. You just had this…sense. Like you were looking for something, but you weren't sure it existed. Acceptance or friendship or guidance or just…something _more_ to the life you were already living. And I just thought that, seeing as you did save my life and all, and you're pretty much my best friend, that you might want to see if you could…you know. Find it. Out there, in the universe."

He was looking at his shoes as he spoke, as though meeting Kurt's eyes would confirm something he didn't want to see.

_Rejection._

Kurt pressed a finger under Blaine's chin, tilting his head up to look Kurt straight in the eyes. He blinked.

"Hey. You seriously think that I, Kurt Hummel, would say no to that?"

"Well I mean I wasn't sure, I just wanted to check. And there'll be a lot of running you know, and possibly some jumping too. And it's dangerous _all_ the time, and there won't be many opportunities for shopping and sometimes you might have to wear the same outfit and I _really_ don't think you're…was that a yes?"

"Of course it was a yes, you _idiot!"_

Kurt couldn't help himself, threw his arms around Blaine's neck with a laugh, grinning so hard he thought his face would split in two. He felt Blaine's smile on his neck and squeezed him even tighter.

And then they were apart and Blaine was pulling him through the door and yanking his wet coat from his arms to drape over a railing, talking the whole time as he guided him up the stairs.

"Awesome! Because right now I really, really want to go somewhere hot and Space Florida is out of the window because…well let's just say they won't welcome me back after last time and did I ever tell you about Barcelona? The planet of course, not the country. Well I gave all the dogs back their noses and…okay they weren't very happy, so maybe we shouldn't go there although the suns are _beautiful_ this time of year. I don't know."

He turned, spinning a pen between his fingers.

"Where do you wanna go, Kurt?"

"Uhh…I don't really…"

"Come on! Anywhere!" He grabbed Kurt's hand and pulled him into a dance, spinning him around the console until they were laughing and dizzy.

"Any time, any place! Any country, any planet, any era, any decade!"

"Blaine I've never even been out of _Ohio_!"

Blaine frowned slightly. Then nodded and turned with a flourish, flicking a lever as he passed it.

"I have the perfect solution then, Mr Hummel. Hold on tight! Goodbye Lima, Ohio, United Sates of America, Earth!"

"Where are we going?" Kurt shouted over the whirring engines, stumbling forwards to clutch at the console.

Blaine grinned.

"Just wait and see."

* * *

><p><strong>Next Time:<strong>

_Kurt's never believed in God, but when they arrive on a planet filled with shadows and burning churches, and meet a young blind man in a ripped suit, he may have to revaluate any preconceived notions he had about the nature of religion._

_And then there's those dreams the Doctor has been having…_


End file.
